Predator
by Katt9966
Summary: A predator has joined the precinct, but who's his prey? Contains non-con.
1. Default Chapter

Title: - Predator.

Author: - Katt.

E-mail: - kattanon@hotmail.com

Rating: - R.

Feedback: - Like it or loathe it let me know.

Archive: - I'd be honoured, just let me know. Archived at the Shield Fanfiction Archive.

Disclaimer: - I don't own any of the characters of The Shield, they all belong to Shawn Ryan and FX.

Predator.

Jesus, no wonder Aceveda wanted to go into politics he sure liked the sound of his own voice, Vic thought. Vic had kinda tuned him out five minutes ago, as he briefed the Strike Team, a team of detectives and some agents from the ATF, about the imminent raid on a gang of Mexican gun runners who were holed up in Farmington. Vic knew the drill, hell he'd helped come up with the plan, so listening to Aceveda huff and puff wasn't on his list of fun things to do.

Glancing around the room he had to smile when he noticed he wasn't the only one who was bored. A couple of seats away Nick Johannson had partially turned in his chair, and was gazing back out at the squad room. From what he'd seen of Johannson Vic kinda liked the guy. He was new; a detective who'd transferred in a couple of days ago from the Westwood division. He was in his early to mid forties and well built, he even had a couple of inches over Dutch in height, and he obviously kept in shape with a strong muscular build. Vic had heard he was an ex-marine, and he could well believe it. He was also a real street cop, and from what he'd seen Vic liked his style, he didn't take any shit from anybody.

Vic looked back at Aceveda, but he was still droning on, pointing to a map of the warehouse district where the raid would be going down. Flicking his eyes around the room he found his gaze resting on Johannson once more. Something in Johannson's expression piqued Vic's interest. Vic knew that look; Johannson was checking someone out. Johannson's eyes were slowly following somebody as they walked through the squad room, his interest plain to see. Vic smiled to himself, and curious, turned to see whom Johannson was interested in. He was guessing maybe Danny, or one of the other female uniforms.

Vic couldn't help feeling a little surprised when, following Johannson's line of sight, he realised he was watching Claudette. Her and Dutch had been out on what sounded like a pretty routine double homicide. A wife and her lover caught out by a suspicious husband armed with a gun. They'd obviously finished up at the crime scene, and had probably returned to the Barn with the suspect in custody ready to get a confession, and clear up the paperwork. Vic supposed he shouldn't be surprised, after all for an older woman he supposed Claudette wasn't bad. Johannson obviously thought so, his eyes never left her and Dutch as they made their way through the squad room towards their desks. So Claudette had an admirer, Vic thought to himself mildly amused. Claudette paused, and strolled over to the filing cabinets, pulling open the top drawer of one, looking for something. Vic was surprised when Johannson's intense gaze didn't remain on her, but kept moving. Puzzled Vic turned to look again, and realised with a start that he'd been mistaken, assuming Johannson had been watching Claudette. Shit, he wasn't watching Claudette he was checking out Dutchboy. There was no doubt about it, Johannson watched as Dutch made his way over to his desk, his eyes never leaving him. Glancing at Dutch as he pulled open a desk drawer and dropped his gun in, and then pulled off his suit jacket and draped it over the back of his chair, it was obvious that he was totally oblivious to the close scrutiny he was getting.

In the meantime, Claudette had got the file she'd wanted, and had returned to her desk, sitting down and opening up the file. She looked down at it, and then said something to Dutch, who went over to her. As Vic watched Claudette pointed to something in the file, and Dutch, wanting to get a better look, leaned forward putting one hand down on Claudette's desk, and the other on the arm of her chair. Looking quickly back at Johannson, Vic couldn't quite believe it when he saw that he was actually checking out Dutchboy's ass as he bent over Claudette's desk. However, his amusement faded slightly when he looked more closely at Johannson. The expression on his face as he looked at Dutch was intense. There was a brief glimpse of an open hunger there that made Vic feel suddenly uncomfortable.

Just then the scrap of chairs, as everyone around them began to move, signaled that the operation was about to get under way. Time for Vic to turn his attention back the matter at hand, but he made a note to himself to keep an eye on Johannson. That appraising look that he'd been giving Dutch suddenly reminded Vic of the look a predator had when it had just spotted it's prey. 

*

The warehouse raid had gone like clockwork. The Mexicans had been caught with their pants down, literally for one, who'd been in a backroom screwing some local senorita when Vic and Shane had dropped in for a little coitus interruptus. Not only had they scooped up all the gang, they'd stopped enough weapons to start several gang wars from hitting the streets, as well as the added bonus of two kilos of cocaine. All in all not a bad couple of hour's work, Vic thought to himself.

Vic had kept an eye on Johannson at the raid, as much as he could anyway during all the excitement. From what he'd seen Vic's first impression of the guy seemed to be correct. He'd been quick, efficient and tough, just the kinda guy you'd want watching your back. Vic was beginning to wonder if maybe he was judging him too harshly. After all what had he really seen? So Johannson liked guys, that didn't bother Vic, and he'd been eyeing Dutch up, but was it really any of Vic's business? Dutch was a big boy, and Vic was sure he could look after himself, and besides Johannson had only looked, no harm in that. Dutch hadn't even noticed, so what did it matter? The memory of that hungry, predatory look that had momentarily been on Johannson's face returned, but Vic pushed it aside, deciding he was being paranoid.

The ATF agents were up in Aceveda's office, all patting each other on the back. While Aceveda was no doubt, rubbing his hands with glee at the politically opportune headlines that would be in tomorrow's newspapers. Meanwhile, those who'd actually done most of the real work, the Strike Team, and their fellow detectives, were all having to complete the paperwork, write reports and statements. Vic was taking a break from the paper pushing to grab himself a soda from the breakroom. As he passed through the squad room he couldn't help but notice that there, sitting perched on the edge of Dutch's desk, talking to him, was Johannson.

Vic briefly wondered if he should say something to Dutch, warn him of Johannson's interest in him. Oh yeah, he thought to himself, what am I supposed to say, "_Hey Dutch watch out the new guy was checking out your ass earlier, and I think he saw something he liked." _Vic snorted under his breath, as if Dutch was gonna believe him if he did tell him. He'd probably think it was some kind of a practical joke or something.

One part of Vic was still of the opinion that the whole thing was really none of his business. After all if Johannson went as far as propositioning Dutch all Dutch had to do was say no right, no big deal. In fact, for a moment Vic wished he could be a fly on the wall if Johannson did come on to Dutch. God, he could just imagine Dutchboy's reaction. He wasn't exactly a "people person" at the best of times, having Johannson ask him out on a date or something would probably completely freak him out. However, the smirk that had formed on Vic's face at that thought soon disappeared, because as much as Vic tried to bury his concerns, that little glimmer of worry was still nagging away at him. Shit, Vic thought, maybe next time he'd pay more attention to Aceveda's speeches, and less attention to his co-workers business. It would make his life a hell of a lot easier.


	2. Predator Chapter 2

Disclaimer: - I don't own any of the characters of The Shield, they all belong to Shawn Ryan and FX.

Predator Chapter 2.

Dutch searched his desk, and the floor around his desk, for his pen, knowing at once that the search was futile. He straightened up and leaned back in his chair, blowing out an annoyed breath. This was really starting to piss him off. It wasn't funny anymore; not that he'd ever really found it amusing in the first place. It was just so juvenile. He wasn't sure who was doing it, although he suspected someone on the Strike Team, probably Vendrell. It was the kind of high school mentality he'd come to expect from Vic Mackey's "boys". Hell it was an attitude Mackey himself seemed to encourage, revel in even. However, when he'd confronted Vendrell about it a couple of days ago the guy had denied everything. He'd implied that maybe Dutch was starting to crack up under the pressure, becoming paranoid, imaging things. God, heavens help him, but maybe the ill-mannered redneck was right.

Claudette looked across at him from where she sat at her own desk, and with a slightly exasperated tone to her voice, she asked him,

"What is it this time?"

Glancing at her he shrugged as he replied,

"Another pen…Christ I must be keeping the stationary industry going single-handedly."

Claudette let out a little snort of amusement at his comment. Then reaching out to the little pot she kept on her desk, a little something her daughter Bonnie had presented her with one Mother's Day when she was still in elementary school, she pulled out a spare pen, and chucked it over to Dutch,

"Here have one of mine."

"Thanks," he said with a sheepish smile, and he focused his attention on the incident report in front of him.

Claudette paused for a moment before returning to her own paperwork, and regarded her partner. She knew that he'd been putting the events of the past couple of weeks down to some childish prankster, but she wasn't quite so sure if that was the correct interpretation of what was happening. To put it quite simply Dutch's possessions kept going missing. Pens, notebooks, pencils, a tie, a handkerchief, and even the nameplate from the front of his desk. They'd all been there one minute, and then turn your back for a second, and they'd have mysteriously disappeared.

It had been driving Dutch nuts trying to figure out who could be doing it, and he was convinced the Strike Team had something to do with it. She'd wondered if it was them too, but a quiet word with Vic had convinced her otherwise. He'd assured her that none of them had had anything to do with it. Then he reminded her of his promise not to pull anymore stunts on Dutch after she'd had words with him when she'd discovered it was him, and his team, that were continually stealing Dutch's chair when The Barn had first opened. That incident had ticked her off because she found that the line between a little work-place ribbing, and full-blown bullying was often a thin one. Of course Dutch had never found out that she'd stepped in on his behalf, all he knew was the chair stealing had stopped, and while he'd tried to shrug it off as unimportant, Claudette had noticed his relief.

Claudette hastily repressed the sigh that had been about to escape from her mouth, not wanting Dutch to hear it, and perhaps realize she'd been studying him. Looking down at the papers in front of her she tried to concentrate on the job at hand. She actually managed to stay focused on her work pretty well until a voice off to her left caused her to look up again.

"Hey, Dutch are you busy?"

She felt a little spike of annoyance flash through her as she recognised that voice as belonging to Nick Johannson. She didn't know why, but she really couldn't stand the man. She even felt a little guilty for her almost irrational dislike of him. She acknowledged that she certainly seemed to be in the minority where her opinion of Johannson was concerned. Everybody seemed to love the guy, and really what was there not to like. He was polite and pleasant, a good cop, always ready to do you a favour, help you out if you needed it. He fitted in with the guys, and yet didn't treat the female officers as inferior, or as sex objects. Nick Johannson was everybody's friend, and Claudette loathed him. He made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, and she just didn't know why.

When she looked across towards Dutch again, at the sound of Johannson's voice, her irritation with the man went up a notch or two, when she noted he was sitting on the corner of Dutch's desk. Jesus, for some reason she really hated it when he did that and again it seemed to be a completely irrational reaction, and that realisation just irked her even more.

At Johannson's question Dutch had looked up, and smiled, putting his pen down he replied,

"Nothing that can't wait Nick. What do you need?"

"Well," Johannson said, " I'm trying to get a handle on the motives of my homeless guy's killer, and I know you're a bit of an expert in profiling techniques, so I wondered if you could spare me ten minutes to give me some help?"

Dutch flushed slightly at Johannson's praise, and stood up saying,

"Oh…sure no problem, but I wouldn't exactly say I'm an expert."

"Ah, that's not what I hear. I've heard all about that "Streetwalker Strangler" case you cracked, and the way you figured out there was a serial killer on the loose before anyone else. You're just being too modest Dutch."

"Yeah well…" Dutch said, becoming a little flustered, just like he always did when someone praised him up.

As Claudette watched they both turned towards Johannson's desk, and as they began to move towards it Johannson told Dutch,

"All my paperwork's over here."

Then he reached up and rested his hand lightly, and briefly, on the small of Dutch's back.

Dutch didn't seem to take any notice of the slight touch, but Claudette felt a shiver go down her spine at the sight of it.

Johannson was always doing that she'd noticed, always touching Dutch. A hand on his back, his shoulder, on his arm, always touch, touch, touch. It might not have bothered her so much if Johannson was just a tactile kinda guy. She knew perfectly well that some people were just naturally more touchy-feely than others. However, from what she'd observed all of Johannson's touchy-feely was strictly reserved for Dutch, and she didn't like it.

Surprisingly Dutch didn't seem to mind at all. In fact, she wasn't entirely sure if he noticed just how much Johansson touched him. Dutch just seemed pleased, and a little flattered, that a guy like Johannson seemed to like him. She knew this was a manifestation of Dutch's insecurities, and it was kinda like being back at high school again, where it felt so good to be liked by the cool, popular kids. He'd seemed genuinely shocked, and puzzled, the one time she'd mentioned that she didn't like Johannson, and her own inability to explain why hadn't helped to sway him to her way of thinking.

Turning away from the two men with a frown Claudette suddenly realised that she wasn't the only one watching them, and from the expression on Vic's face she wasn't the only one who didn't like what they were seeing.

Suddenly sensing her scrutiny Vic looked towards her, and for a second their eyes locked. A second was all Claudette needed to note the concern, and discomfort, in Vic's eyes. Then Vic looked away and walked quickly into the bathroom. Sensing that Vic knew something about Johannson, and whatever that knowledge was it was bothering him, Claudette got up and followed him.

When she pushed open the bathroom door and stepped inside Vic was just exiting the cubicle. She noticed that he winced slightly when he saw it was her, but quickly covered it saying,

"It's all yours." As he indicated the now empty cubicle behind him.

Than he made his way over to the sink, and began to wash his hands.

Claudette didn't say anything, and didn't move, leaning back against the door silently watching Vic. He tried to ignore her, but he couldn't stand the silent scrutiny, and as he dried his hands on a paper towel he finally gave up the pretense, and said,

"What?"

"What do you know about Johannson?" Claudette asked him.

Vic shrugged and replied,

"Not a lot. He seems nice enough; he's a good cop. What else is there to know?"

A cold smile formed on her face as she listened to the tone of Vic's voice, as opposed to the actual words he used, and she said,

"You don't like him anymore than I do. But why? He strikes me as just your type of guy. So what do you know about him that makes you dislike him?"

Vic shrugged, but refused to meet her eye, as he tried to be evasive,

"I don't know what you're talking about Claudette. I don't know him well enough to have an opinion about him one way or the other. Now if you'll excuse me I've got work to do."

He took a step towards the door, but Claudette didn't move, and still barred his way from it.

"I saw the look on your face just now Vic, the look in your eyes while you watched him and Dutch together. What did you see that worried you?"

Vic's face hardened, and he sounded annoyed when he told her,

"I don't know what you're talking about Claudette. Now can you please move."

Hesitating briefly Claudette finally stood to one side to let him pass. As Vic reached out, and grasped the door handle, pulling open the door, she said to him in a quiet voice,

"Dutch is my partner Vic, if you know something that I should know I'd appreciate a head's up."

Vic didn't look at her, but he did pause half way out of the door, and he replied,

"Just keep an eye on him Claudette," Vic laughed softly, although the sound of it chilled Claudette as it seemed devoid of any mirth, before he continued, "keep as much of an eye on him as Johannson does."

Then, with that cryptic comment, he was gone, leaving Claudette with a lot to think about.


	3. Predator Chapter 3

Disclaimer: - I don't own any of the characters of The Shield, they all belong to Shawn Ryan and FX.

Predator Chapter 3.

Vic was pissed, he knew it, and so did the rest of the team. The atmosphere in the Navigator was tense, everyone quiet and on edge, and he knew it was his fault. They were watching a chop shop, which was doubling as a drug distribution centre. Not content with stolen cars the owner thought he could muscle in on the local drug action, and Vic couldn't allow that. So they were just waiting for a couple of his teenage dealers to turn up for new supplies, and then they'd strike and close the place down. However, the little shits were late, and so they were all stuck here in the car waiting.

Lem had asked him what was wrong about twenty minutes ago, but had shut up when Vic had snapped his head off. Vic knew he was being unfair, but he couldn't help himself. This whole situation with Dutch and Nick Johannson had been playing on his mind for weeks, and then he'd had his little confrontation with Claudette in the bathroom just before he'd left for this stake-out.

Not for the first time he wished he'd paid more attention to Aceveda's speeches that day they'd gone on the gun's raid, and less to Johannson. Then he wouldn't know anything about this whole fucked up situation, and it wouldn't be nagging away at the back of his mind constantly, worrying him and making him irritable.

Since he'd first noticed Johannson's interest in Dutch he'd kept an eye on things, and he hadn't liked what he'd been seeing.

Johannson had wheedled his way into just about everybody's good books. Everybody seemed to love the asshole. He'd tried it with Vic a couple of times, but Vic hadn't been buying it. That look of hunger that had been on his face when he'd been looking at Dutch that day had played on Vic's mind. He had the distinct impression that he'd caught a glimpse of the real Nick Johannson then, he'd caught a glimpse of what lurked under the mask. So when Johannson had made overtures of friendship towards him, Vic had been polite, but cold. After a couple of attempts Johannson had gotten the message and had given up. From what Vic had observed the guy was pretty shrewd when it came to other people, and he'd obviously realised he was having no luck with Vic, and so had cut his losses and moved on.

However, he didn't have such a problem with Dutchboy, Vic noticed. Johannson played him like a virtuoso. He flattered Dutch, and praised him, made a point of seeking out his opinion, and stuck up for him if he was being teased by a couple of the other guys. In other words he took every one of Dutchboy's insecurities and played them to his own advantage. Vic had to grudgingly admit the guy was an artist. A master manipulator and he had Dutch eating out of his hand.

This manipulative behaviour towards Dutch, towards everyone around him, would've bothered Vic on its own, but that wasn't all he'd become aware of. There was Dutch's missing stuff, now that was just plain creepy. A couple of days ago Dutch had cornered Shane in the break room, and had accused him of taking it as part of some kind of prank. However, Shane had completely denied any knowledge of Dutch's missing possessions, and had implied that Dutch was being paranoid. Shane had laughed it off, and Vic was positive he hadn't been lying when he'd said he'd had nothing to do with it. Besides Vic had another suspect in mind over the theft of Dutch's things, Johannson. It was an uncomfortable thought that would indicate an unhealthy obsession, but it would fit in with the other behaviour Vic had observed.

Johannson spent an inordinate amount of time just watching Dutch. Always surreptitiously, from a distance, but once his eyes found him they wouldn't leave him. It was always with that singularly intense gaze, such as he had used that first day. Vic had done a little watching of his own. He'd seen the way Johannson looked at Dutch when he thought no one else was looking. The way his eyes devoured the younger man. Vic could definitely say he understood the phrase "undress someone with your eyes", because that was exactly what Johannson did, and it made Vic distinctly uncomfortable. It wasn't the fact that Johannson was looking at another man that bothered him, it was the surreptitious, intense nature of it. Dutch was completely unaware of the scrutiny he was getting, and Vic found that made him uncomfortable, because it was as if Johannson was indulging in fantasy's at Dutch's expense, almost against his will.

Not that Johannson was leaving it at looking. The touching had started just over a week ago. Nothing serious, it wasn't like the guy grabbed Dutch's ass or anything. No it was way subtler than that. Little pats on the arm, a squeeze of a shoulder, a slight brush of fingertips on his back. It was never anything too invasive, and in fact Vic didn't think Dutch even noticed it, but it was as if Johannson was marking what was his. Claiming Dutch with his touch.

Vic had had this impression of Johannson's motives re-enforced when Johannson had finally noticed Vic was watching him. Or to be more accurate probably, he'd finally acknowledged to Vic that he realised it. It had been two days ago, and Vic had been passing in front of Dutch's desk, when he'd noticed Johannson talking to Dutch. Just like today Dutch had been sitting down and Johannson had been perched on a corner of his desk. Johannson had said something that had made Dutch laugh, then Johannson had gotten up to go back to his own desk. As he had he'd passed behind Dutch and he'd looked up, his eyes locking with Vic's. His mouth had curled up into a smirk, and he'd put out his hand and patted Dutch's shoulder. His eyes had never left Vic's, the smirk widening when he'd seen the annoyance in Vic's face. God, at that moment Vic had wanted to go over and punch that smirk right off his face. The challenge had been loud and clear --- _you know, I know you know, and there's nothing you can do about it._

Christ, just thinking about it produced a headache right behind Vic's eyes. He blew out a sharp breath, and leaned his head back, avoiding looking at any of his team. Damn it he was pissed. Pissed at that manipulative dick Johannson, pissed at Dutch for being so totally clueless, and pissed at himself for caring.

After all while Dutch might be amazingly naïve sometimes, he was a grown man, and a grown man who carried a gun for Christ's sake. So he wasn't exactly defenseless. Then again, he thought before he could stop himself, Johannson was a big guy, powerful, an ex-marine, and Dutch wasn't exactly street-fighter material.

For crying out loud, Vic thought, what did he think Johannson was going to do? He might be a slimy creep, but did he really think Dutch was in any danger from the guy? Maybe Shane should have called him paranoid, and not Dutch.

Anyway maybe he wouldn't have to worry about it anymore; after all he had just given Claudette the heads up she'd asked for. Obviously she didn't like Johannson either, although she hadn't yet realised that his interest in her partner was sexual. Knowing Claudette though Vic was fairly confident that the realisation of what was going on would be coming pretty soon. Good, Vic thought, he's her partner let her deal with it. He held on to that thought and tried his best to ignore the voice in the back of his mind that told him that he was already involved, and he couldn't just wash his hands of it all.

At that moment all thoughts of Dutch, Johannson and Claudette vanished from Vic's mind as the two pushers they'd been waiting for finally showed up, and went into the garage the team had been watching.

"Let's go." Vic growled, looking forward to working his frustrations out on some piece of shit drug dealers.

Claudette lay in bed and stared up at the sliver of light that stretched half way across her bedroom ceiling. It was from the street lamp outside, it's bright light had pierced its way through a small chink in her curtains.

She couldn't sleep, her mind going in circles. Analyzing behaviour, remembering gestures and body language, scrutinizing overheard conversations, and finally turning over and over again those parting words from Vic that afternoon --- _"Keep as much of an eye on him as Johannson does." _It had all fallen into place, and try as she might to find another explanation, she knew there wasn't one.

The only thing now was what was she going to do about it? Should she tell Dutch of her suspicions? Warn him of exactly what his new friend was interested in, and it wasn't his profiling skills. Or maybe she should confront Johannson? Get him on his own and warn him off. Or perhaps she was over-reacting. Maybe she should sit back for the moment, and just keep an eye on things. Confirm hers and Vic's suspicions before she made a move. Claudette sighed and guessed she had a long, and mostly sleepless, night ahead of her.


	4. Predator Chapter 4

Disclaimer: - I don't own any of the characters of The Shield, they all belong to Shawn Ryan and FX.

Predator Chapter 4

Tonight was the night, and Nick felt his cock stir in eager anticipation just at the thought of the things he was going to do to that delicious body. He could hardly wait; at last he'd be able to see if the reality would be as good as the fantasy.

He'd been cultivating Dutch for several months now, and everything had been going perfectly. He'd spotted Dutch on his very first day at The Barn, during his orientation tour with Officer Cucusa. They'd been about to leave the area where the cage was housed just as Dutch had been about to enter it. Dutch had pulled the door open, and then stood back to let him and Cucusa go through first. Nick had looked at him and said thanks, Dutch had smiled back at him, and that had been it Nick had been smitten. It was his eyes, Nick thought, there was something about them, something sad and a little lonely, and a hint of vulnerability that Nick had instantly known he'd be able to turn to his own advantage. Of course it didn't hurt that Nick found him rather attractive too.

Nick was sitting at his desk ostensibly finishing up on some overdue paperwork, but in reality waiting and watching for that bitch Wyms to leave. Nick knew that she didn't like him, didn't trust him. At first she'd tried to hide it, being merely distant, as opposed to openly hostile, but that had changed a couple of weeks ago. Suddenly it seemed that every time he went to talk to Dutch his partner would need him for something. Interrupting their conversations and pulling him away. Several times all she'd had to do was to see him approaching Dutch and suddenly she was wanting an early lunch, or to drive out to a crime scene for just one more look, anything just to get Dutch out of the building, and away from him. Of course Nick knew what the problem was --- she'd been talking to Mackey. There was someone else who needed to mind their own business.

At first the whole thing with Mackey had been fun. It had added a touch of spice to the game. He'd caught Mackey watching him with that tight-lipped, intense stare of his. If Mackey thought he could intimidate Nick with that alpha-male, territorial, testosterone-fuelled bullshit, he was sadly mistaken. Nick had offered the hand of friendship to Mackey several times only to have it rebuffed. In the end he'd decided he really didn't give a shit. After all there was nothing Mackey could do. If Mackey reported him, or spoke to Dutch, he'd just deny everything, and since he hadn't made any overt moves on Dutch yet Mackey really didn't have any proof. So Nick had been able to enjoy rubbing Mackey's nose in it. Always making sure he'd reach out and pat Dutch's arm, or briefly rest his hand on his back just as Mackey was passing. Not only did he enjoy the contact, but also watching Mackey's eyes narrow, his face growing cold, added to the thrill.

However, now that Wyms was interfering too it was starting to become annoying. As if what went on between him and Dutch was any of their business anyway.

Once more glancing up Nick had to suppress a smile as he watched Claudette gathering her things together as she prepared to go home. He looked down at the open file on his desk, and watched surreptitiously from the corner of his eye as she headed out towards the car park. Glancing over at Dutch's desk he let himself smile when he saw him, as expected, still busy working away. He knew Dutch often put in an hour or so in unpaid overtime, and tonight he'd been counting on him doing just that. However, he couldn't help thinking that Dutch really needed to get himself a personal life. Of course if things went as planned tonight, Nick thought, then Dutch was going to have plenty to occupy his off duty hours.

He just had to be careful, take his time, and not scare the other man off. He'd been slow and careful so far, making sure he'd ingratiated himself with most of his colleagues. He'd made a point of seeking out Dutch's advise, some of which had actually come in quite handy for solving a few of his cases. Nick had made sure that he'd told Dutch how much he appreciated his help, that his insight had been the vital last part of the puzzle, and Dutch had lapped it up.

Nick prided himself on his ability to read other people. To be able to home in on their desires, their motivations, their weaknesses, it was part of what made him a good detective. Dutch had been an open book to him. It was obvious that he largely defined himself by his job. That his ability to do his job well and his own self-esteem were intrinsically linked. Nick had made a few off-hand enquires with the precinct gossips, something every precinct he'd ever worked in had had, and he'd heard the rather messy story of the end of Dutch's marriage. Nick could see how such a spectacular screw-up in his personal life would make Dutch re-focus his energies towards his work, a way to forget, to re-validate his bruised ego. Nick had also gone out of his way to be Dutch's friend, to include him. He'd soon realised that Dutch wasn't exactly socially adept. He had a quite remarkable ability to totally misread a situation and say completely the wrong thing. It was as if the social interaction that went on around him was a finely tuned orchestra, with each person an instrument in that orchestra, each perfectly balanced, perfectly pitched, all playing in harmony with each other. Then along came Dutch --- tone deaf, out of tune, and quite often playing a completely different score to everyone else. Within seconds of opening his mouth he'd be left floundering. It had been easy for Nick to smoothly step in, and either turn Dutch's faux pas into a witty observation, or just buck the trend and agree with him. Admittedly, it might make him look a little out of step himself sometimes, but it was worth it to see the hesitant smile of gratitude he'd get from Dutch. It had been all worth it because it meant that Dutch trusted him completely, and now Nick couldn't wait any longer, he'd been patient long enough, and it was time to make his move.

As if on cue he could see Dutch finally closing the file he was working on, and reaching into his desk drawer for his badge and his gun. Standing up himself Nick strolled over to him, plastering a suitably slightly annoyed, slightly hopeful look on his face,

"Are you off now Dutch?" He asked.

Turning towards him, a weary smile on his face Dutch replied,

"Yeah, I'm not gonna get any further tonight, my mind's going round in circles."

Nick laughed softly,

"I know the feeling."

His smile widening Dutch asked him,

"Why was there something you needed?"

Nick blew out a breath, pausing for effect before saying,

"Well I wanted to ask you a favour actually."

"Sure anything."

"I was wondering if you could give me a lift home. It's just I've been having car trouble for a day or so, and Mark was supposed to give me a ride home tonight, but he must've forgotten cause he's already gone. I mean if it's too much trouble that's okay I can get a cab." Then turning partially away he added. "In fact forget it I don't want to be a pain, and you look tired…"

Dutch interrupted, just as Nick had known he would, reaching out and briefly laying his hand on Nick's forearm,

"Don't be silly of course I'll give you a ride, it's no problem."

"Thanks Dutch…um you couldn't give me a hand with my stuff could you?" Nick jerked a thumb towards his desk to indicate the two boxes of files that stood on the floor. "It's some old case files. I want to look through them, see if that Diaz murder is part of a pattern."

"Sure no problem," Dutch replied, as he walked back towards Nick's desk, and prepared to carry one of the boxes out to his car. "Do you really think you might find indications of an undetected serial predator?" He asked, his interest piqued.

Nick smiled to himself as he picked up his own box. He knew that Dutch wouldn't be able to resist talking shop if he presented him with something to capture his imagination. Just what he needed to get Dutch to relax, and drop his guard. The boxes were also the perfect excuse to get Dutch up to his apartment. He'd help Nick carry them up, then a drink or two while they carried on their conversation, and then…then the seduction. If things went to plan he hoped to be able to sweet-talk a slightly tipsy Dutch out of his clothes and into his bed before he'd had time to realize quite where things were headed. Then once he had him in his bed Nick was confident that he knew plenty of things that would ensure Dutch wouldn't be able to think too hard about anything except the erotic sensations he'd be experiencing at Nick's hands.

As Nick followed Dutch out to his car he only kept half an ear tuned into what Dutch was talking about, most of his attention was actually engaged with watching the younger man's ass as he walked in front of him. As Dutch opened his trunk and deposited the box he'd been carrying inside he turned to help Nick with his burden, and as Nick caught his eye Dutch smiled a slightly nervous half-smile at him. Nick grinned back feeling his dick harden, and he silently vowed to himself that one way or another he just had to possess this slightly awkward, slightly unsure, but very desirable man.


	5. Predator Chapter 5

Disclaimer: - I don't own any of the characters of The Shield, they all belong to Shawn Ryan and FX.

Predator Chapter 5.

Okay that had been completely surreal. Dutch briefly wondered just when it was that his life had turned into an episode of "The Twilight Zone". He reached up and pushed his hair back off his forehead with a tired sigh. _"Christ," _he thought, _"why does my life always have to be such a fuck up?" _Turning his head he glanced at his alarm clock, the glowing, red display read 2:30. Great he was back on the dayshift tomorrow, and so he had to be up in three hours to get ready for work. Instead of getting any sleep he knew he would spend the next three hours just as he had the last three, sitting up in his bed trying to figure out what he was going to do. Tomorrow morning he was going to have to go into work and act normally. Then he frowned slightly and wondered just what was considered "normal" behaviour towards a colleague who'd come on to you the night before?

At first everything had seemed perfectly normal. Nick had asked him for a ride home, and Dutch had been only too happy to oblige. He liked Nick. The guy was a good detective; he was funny and considerate. Dutch had been pleased when he'd asked his advise a few times, when he respected his theories and methods. He'd been happy that Nick had obviously wanted to be his friend. Dutch frowned at that thought and wondered if perhaps it hadn't all been as it had seemed. Maybe Nick had had an ulterior motive all along? Dutch thoughtfully worried his lower lip between his teeth as he turned that idea over in his mind before he dismissed it, refusing to give in to his paranoia, and returned to his analysis of the previous night's events.

The drive to Nick's apartment had been pretty uneventful. Now that he looked back on it Dutch realised that Nick had been unusually quiet during the journey, seemingly content to let him do most of the talking. It had just been shop talk. Nick's theory that the Diaz shooting might not be an isolated crime prompting him to tell Nick about a serial case that had just broken along the coast at Oxnard. Nick hadn't said much, just the odd grunt or snort of disbelief, whichever had been appropriate for the conversation at the time. Although, Dutch thought wryly, perhaps "conversation" was something of a misnomer.

When they'd reached Nick's apartment complex he'd naturally offered to help Nick up to his place with his boxes of files. Once again a little niggle of suspicion crept into Dutch's mind. Things were starting to add up, and a good detective never ignored the evidence. The conveniently broken down car, the missed lift home, the heavy boxes that Nick had needed help with. Maybe his paranoia wasn't misplaced this time Dutch mused? He frowned unhappily at the thought that he might have been manipulated, set up, by someone he considered a friend --- not that it would be the first time that had happened.

Dutch remembered his first impression of Nick's home had been that it was rather spartan, austere even, but immaculately clean. He could remember putting that down to Nick's time in the military. He supposed that Nick's former career in the marines had instilled a certain pragmatic, methodical approach to life in him. He'd followed Nick's example by depositing the box he was carrying on the floor in the living room.

He hadn't wanted to stay. He'd been tired, and he'd also known that the shift change over tomorrow, "today" he corrected himself in his mind, meant he had to be at his desk again by seven the next morning. However, just as he'd been about to stammer out his excuses and leave, Nick had appeared with two large glasses of whiskey. It was from this point that events began to become disconcerting.

"Thanks for the ride and the hand up with those files… Here have a drink, I want to pick your brain about the Diaz case." Nick said with a smile, holding out one of the glasses towards him.

Dutch smiled back apologetically at Nick, and shook his head,

"Um…no thanks Nick. Look it's late and I'm kinda tired so…"

Dutch began to turn towards the door, but then stopped, feeling a little guilty, when he saw the crestfallen expression on Nick's face. Nick lowered the proffered glass, placing both of them on the side table and said,

"Oh yeah…of course you ah…said you were tired…It's just…" Nick paused and sighed before carrying on, "oh never mind…I'll… ah see you tomorrow Dutch."

Dutch felt completely selfish. The poor guy was probably a little lonely, and just wanted someone to talk to for an hour. God knows Dutch knew how he felt sometimes. So, with a little inward sigh of his own, Dutch cranked up his smile several notches,

"Hey, no it's fine. It'll be good to unwind a little before I head home." Although he did have to add, after eyeing the very generous amount of whiskey in the glasses, "but ah…well I'm driving so I don't think the whiskey's a good idea. Maybe a coffee though?"

When he'd said he was going to stay Dutch noticed Nick's spirits seemed to lift, but his smile had dimmed a little when he'd had to turn down the whiskey.

"I'm right out of coffee…sorry, but I've got a couple of cold beers in the fridge. I mean one beer won't hurt will it?"

Dutch shrugged, promising himself just to take a couple of sips.

"Sure, thanks that'd be great."

"I won't be long. Make yourself at home, sit down." Nick beamed back at him as he disappeared into what Dutch assumed must be the kitchen.

Sitting down on a slightly faded, slightly saggy brown couch Dutch let his eyes wander aimlessly around the room, while he waited, trying very hard not to glance at his watch as he did so.

It was only a couple of minutes later that Nick reappeared with the promised two bottles of beer. He handed one to Dutch, and then rather to Dutch's surprise, instead of sitting in one of the armchairs, or even at the far end of the couch, he sat right next to him, making him feel a little crowded. Dutch shifted sideways slightly in his seat, trying not to be too obvious about it, and resisting the urge to jump up and sit somewhere else. By contrast to his tense posture, Nick seemed perfectly at ease. Leaning back in the seat he took a long pull of his beer, smacking his lips in satisfaction when he pulled the bottle away again, half-empty.

Despite this inauspicious beginning the next hour actually flew by rather quickly and enjoyably. Dutch found Nick's easy going, relaxed manner rubbing off on him, and he finally began to unwind too. He was a little surprised to find that despite his earlier resolve to just have a sip or two to be sociable, he rapidly drained his own bottle. Although he'd protested when Nick fetched a second bottle, that was soon half-empty too.

It had been good to spend some free time relaxing, and chatting and Dutch wasn't sure when the last time had been that he'd laughed so much. It was only as he leant forward to pick up his beer from the floor to finish it up, that Dutch realised that maybe he should be calling it a night. As he leant forward his head swam and he felt a little dizzy. It was then that he remembered he hadn't had anything to eat since lunchtime, and that, combined with his tiredness, was making him a little more susceptible to the alcohol than usual. Deciding to leave the half-finished bottle where it was Dutch sat back letting out a little puff of breath.

"Are you okay?" Nick asked from beside him.

"Yeah…yeah just a little tired. I think I should be heading home actually. It's been fun, but ah…well we both have to be up early, right?" Dutch said as he carefully stood up.

He had to take a couple of steps back when Nick quickly stood up as well.

"It's still early yet, and you haven't finished your beer." He said.

Dutch shook his head slightly.

"I've had enough, remember I'm driving."

He stepped forward to move past Nick, but faltered to a stop when Nick sidestepped in front of him. Nick smiled at him and said,

"I was hoping you could stay for a bit longer Dutch…I wanted to talk to you."

Dutch was exhausted, and the beer was making his head buzz a little, all he wanted was some fresh air and his bed. He tried to keep the impatience from his voice as he replied,

"Honestly Nick I'm feeling pretty wiped out. We'll talk tomorrow."

Not waiting for a reply he moved past Nick towards the door. He was taken by surprise when Nick swiftly moved around the couch from the other side, and reaching out grabbed his arm stopping him. Frowning Dutch turned and was a little taken aback by the flash of anger he thought he saw on Nick's face. It wasn't there for long though as Nick's expression quickly reverted to its usual good natured half smile.

"No Dutch I really need to talk to you now. I…I like you Dutch…a lot."

Inwardly Dutch groaned, suspecting that maybe Nick was a little drunk himself, despite appearances to the contrary, and that he was going to turn out to be one of those people who insisted on telling you how much they like you, what a good friend you are, etcetera, when they were a little "merry".

So trying to be reassuring he reached out and patted Nick's shoulder,

"I like you too Nick…" before Dutch could carry on to say that however much he liked Nick he really had to be making tracks, Nick interrupted,

"I know Dutch. That's why I think it's time we took our relationship to the next level."

Nick was staring at Dutch quite intently, and Dutch felt rather embarrassed because for a moment he had no idea what he was talking about. Then he let out the breath he'd been holding when understanding dawned on him. He felt kind of flattered and smiled warmly at Nick as he told him,

"That's really nice of you Nick, but you know I'm partnered with Claudette, and we have this whole rapport, unspoken communication kinda thing going on, so I'm really not looking for a new partner."

Nick laughed softly shaking his head,

"No Dutch I'm not talking about work. I meant our personal relationship."

Dutch was pretty sure he probably looked as confused as he felt by now,

"I'm sorry, I don't understand."

He was a little taken aback when Nick moved closer,

"Oh come on Dutch I know you like me as much as I like you…It's okay…I know you're probably new to all this, but that's alright…I'll take my time…" reaching out Nick's hand came to rest on the side of Dutch's face, "…be gentle."

For several seconds Dutch didn't move. He knew what he'd heard, but his mind was refusing to believe it could be true, and was desperately casting about for a different interpretation of Nick's words. Better still he hoped Nick would suddenly burst out laughing, and make jokes about how stunned he probably looked right about now. All the while he could feel Nick's hand resting against his cheek, and suddenly it seemed that he could feel the heat of the other man's body as he stood uncomfortably close to him. His uncertainty didn't last for long as Nick began to lean forward towards him, his eyes boring into Dutch's. Dutch felt Nick's breath on his lips just before Nick's mouth was about to close on his for a kiss. Feeling himself flush red with embarrassment Dutch suddenly snapped back to himself, and rapidly backed up a few steps. Needing to put some space between them. Continuing to move slowly towards the door, but never taking his eyes from Nick he began to stammer out his slightly panicked response,

"I'm…ah…I'm flattered Nick…but um…I'm not, I'm not…um that way…um…If I did something…said something that made it seem that I ah…" At this point he nearly stumbled over the boxes of files that they'd put on the floor earlier, "…I'm sorry Nick, but um…I think it's best if I go…I'll see you tomorrow."

Relieved to find himself at the door Dutch opened it and practically fell over himself in his eagerness to escape.

Rubbing his hands over his tired face Dutch winced as he remembered his reaction to Nick's come on. Jesus he'd behaved like a flustered teenager, instead of a grown man. There again when his mind once more considered the list of circumstances that Nick had seemed to have contrived just so he could proposition him he felt a little miffed. Then when he thought back to the very generous glass of neat whiskey he'd been offered, no doubt to make him more "pliable", he felt his annoyance grow a little keener.

Of course he still hadn't figured out how to react to Nick tomorrow. Maybe he should just behave as if nothing happened. He snorted softly, as if he'd manage to pull that off, he'd probably start blushing every time he saw him. Maybe he should just hide in the utility closet every time Nick came near him --- _"Oh yeah real mature Wagenbach." _He said to himself. Then added a heartfelt, _"shit why do these things have to happen to me?"_


	6. Predator Chapter 6

Disclaimer: - I don't own any of the characters of The Shield, they all belong to Shawn Ryan and FX.

Predator Chapter 6

Something had changed, something was different, a shift in the dynamic. It had come out of the blue three days ago. Vic had noticed it, and a couple of shared looks with Claudette told him that she had too. As well as the mutual understanding between the two of them, Vic was sure Claudette also mirrored the relief that he felt.

As he watched from the foot of the stairs that led up to the first floor of The Barn, Vic felt a little thrill of satisfaction go through him. Johannson approached Dutch and spoke to him. Dutch looked up at him and took a step back away from him, his face a neutral mask, apart from the flush of a blush that he obviously hadn't been able to repress. Johannson said something else, stepped forward, and reached out, putting one hand lightly on Dutch's arm. Dutch immediately shrugged the hand off, said something to the other man, and then turned and walked away, leaving Johannson standing there.

Vic stared at him, and sure enough Johannson sensed his gaze, and turned to look at him. This time it was Vic's turn to gloat. Holding Johannson's gaze Vic gave him his best self-satisfied smirk, while thinking, _"Oh yeah, you bastard you got turned down didn't ya, and now you're getting the cold shoulder."_

Johannson glared back at Vic, his annoyance plain to see. It only made Vic feel even better, and his smirk got even wider. Finally, it was Johannson who was forced to turn away first, storming off to the bathroom, his face like thunder.

Vic looked across the squad room to find Dutch, and saw him sitting at his desk, an open file in front of him, although it didn't look as if he was paying any attention to it. Instead he was staring at the closed bathroom door, lost in thought, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth.

Vic couldn't help but wish he knew what had happened between the two of them. That wish he'd had before, to be a fly on the wall when Johannson propositioned Dutch, coming once more into his mind. He snorted quietly to himself. God, he could just imagine Dutchboy's face. That wide-eyed, opened mouth look he got when taken by surprise, stumbling over his words. Not forgetting Johannson, Vic thought, bet he'd thought he was well in, smug bastard.

"Something caught your interest?" A voice from behind him said.

Vic turned and found Claudette standing on the bottom stair. Grinning at her he replied,

"Just watching that dick Johannson getting shot down in flames again."

Claudette's eyes flicked over to look briefly at Dutch before returning her attention to Vic, a slow smile coming onto her face,

"Damn, sorry I missed that."

Smiling back Vic said,

"So you think Nick made his move then?"

Claudette nodded, dropping her voice as she told him,

"Yeah, I'm guessing on Monday…must have been after I'd left. Dutch came in on Tuesday morning looking like he hadn't slept. He was really quiet and Johannson kept his distance, but watched him all the time. Then he came over and asked if he could speak to Dutch, and Dutch just told him that it probably wasn't a good idea, and left him standing there."

Vic snorted and grinned,

"Well I'm sorry I missed that." He echoed Claudette's earlier sentiments. "Bet he was pissed."

Claudette shrugged,

"As long as he gets the message soon, and leaves Dutch alone I couldn't care less how he feels."

Just then their attention was caught by the desk sergeant from the front desk walking up to Dutch and handing him a package.

"Hmmm," Claudette murmured. "Wonder what that is?"

She began to stroll towards hers and Dutch's desks, Vic deciding to tag along to satisfy his curiosity.

Dutch was staring at the small gift wrapped present that sat on top of the open file.

"Presents?" Claudette asked.

Dutch started from his thoughts and looked up sharply at her, before looking back down at the carefully wrapped, oblong gift. He reached out with one finger and poked at it.

"I don't know what for. I thought it must be a mistake, but my name's on the card."

"Who left it?"

"A messenger Phil said."

"Not your birthday then?" Vic asked.

Dutch turned to look back at him, noticing him for the first time as he stood behind him. Shaking his head he replied,

"No that's months away…September."

"Aren't you going to open it?" Claudette prompted him.

"Yeah…yeah I guess."

Dutch reached out and picked up the package, shaking it before pulling off the pale blue ribbon, and pulling apart the silver wrapping paper. Inside was a black box which when he opened the lid revealed a beautiful, and very expensive looking, gold pen.

Just at that moment Officer Cucusa happened to be passing, and seeing the wrapping paper and ribbon lying discarded on the desk, and then spotting the pen, stopped and asked,

"Is it your birthday?"

"No…no it's not." Dutch said sounding distracted.

He continued to stare at the box and its contents, a small frown on his face.

Reaching out Cucusa picked up the blue card that had been attached to the ribbon.

"Hmm no name. Maybe you've got a secret admirer Detective." She laughed.

Dutch glanced up at her and flushed red with embarrassment, before saying,

"I'm sure it's just a mistake, or someone's idea of a joke."

"An expensive joke." Cucusa replied, leaning forward to look closer at the pen.

Dutch snapped the box shut, opened a desk drawer and dropped it carelessly inside, picking up the wrapping paper, card and ribbon he dropped them into his bin.

"Whatever." He muttered.

Looking up he then glanced to his left and the blush on his face deepened. Following his gaze Vic and Claudette both saw Johannson standing by the bathroom door watching proceedings.

"I need some air." Dutch suddenly announced and getting up he hurried through the squad room before disappearing out through the main door.

With no further possibility of there being any more gossip material Cucusa wondered off towards the evidence room, leaving Vic and Claudette standing by Dutch's desk. Johannson strolled past them on the way to his own desk, his face pale, his eyes steadfastly turned away from them.

Watching him go Claudette turned to Vic and said thoughtfully,

"Maybe he's not quite ready to give up yet?"

Vic narrowed his eyes as he stared at Johannson's back.

"Maybe." He muttered.


	7. Predator Chapter 7

Disclaimer: - I don't own any of the characters of The Shield, they all belong to Shawn Ryan and FX.

Predator Chapter 7

****

Dutch

He stared at the blue and white tiles, not really seeing them, his mind preoccupied. He sat with his knees pulled up towards his chest, his arms loosely wrapped around his legs. Dutch didn't notice that the once warm bath water was rapidly cooling, or that the pads of his fingers were beginning to wrinkle, and gooseflesh was beginning to pepper the skin of his arms, because he'd tarried too long. At that moment all he was concerned about were his problems at work. Well actually his problems with one person at work. Nick Johannson. He chided himself for being so wrong about the man. He'd stupidly thought that Nick liked him, wanted to be his friend… _"Yeah right," _a voice sneered unkindly in the back of his head. He really should've known better. If life had taught Dutch one lesson above all others it was that most people only wanted to get close to him for what they could get – help with their homework, answers to the latest exam, half of everything he'd worked for in the divorce… the list was endless. Yet like an idiot he never seemed to learn this lesson, and the next user suckered him in everytime they crossed his path.

After Nick had propositioned him Dutch had spent a mostly sleepless night trying to figure out how to react to the other man the next day. Whether he should try and avoid him, or act cool and pretend that nothing had happened. It was as he'd turned that evenings events over in his mind that he'd gradually seen just how Nick had manipulated him at every turn. He'd realised that he'd been set up, and that trying to get him into bed had probably been Nick's intention right from the beginning. All those times he'd asked for Dutch's advise, all the times he'd gone out of his way to include him in the conversation, all those friendly smiles and pats on the back. Christ, he could just imagine how Nick must have been laughing at him behind his back – the needy geek so desperate to be liked and accepted that he couldn't see he was being set up. Some detective he was.

It was his anger and embarrassment as he saw Nick's treatment of him for what it was that had shaped Dutch's reactions to the other man the next day. He'd decided to keep away from him. In one sense he wanted to confront Nick with what he'd figured out, but that wasn't exactly an argument he wanted to have while standing up in the middle of the squad room, and the thought of confronting him on his own really didn't appeal either. Besides Dutch tried to avoid argument and confrontation if he possibly could, a childhood spent listening to his parents screaming at each other, and worse, had seen to that.

However, it seemed that Nick just wouldn't take "no" for an answer. Dutch had told him time and again, after the older man had approached him several times wanting to talk, that he had nothing to say to him, and that he thought it would be best if they kept their distance from each other. He had begun to tense up whenever Nick came anywhere near him, and a sixth sense made the hairs in the back of his neck stand on end everytime he could feel Nick's eyes on him, watching him. As if that hadn't been bad enough then the presents had started. Dutch wasn't sure what Nick hoped to achieve with them. Were they an apology, was he hoping to bribe or buy his way into Dutch's bed? Whatever it was Dutch found it creepy, and the memory of all the items of his that had mysteriously gone missing, and which he now had some disturbing suspicions about, only increased that feeling. The gold pen he'd given to the Salvation Army charity shop, the courtside Lakers tickets he'd given to Curtis Lemansky, along with some mumbled excuse about a heavy case load meaning he couldn't use them, the expensive bottles of wine, that had been delivered to his house, he'd poured down the sink, and the luxury food hamper had nearly gone into the bin before a sense of guilt at the waste had meant it had gone to the same place as the gold pen.

Dutch just wasn't sure what to do. He had briefly wondered about going to speak to Captain Aceveda, but had quickly dismissed it. God, what a humiliating conversation that would be, how pathetic he'd sound. He was a grown man and should be able to take care of such problems himself. Although if he was honest with himself it wasn't a scenario he'd ever considered might arise. Anyway if he went to the Captain it would be his word against Nick's, and if the Captain wanted to make it official it would be all over the precinct in hours. He didn't even want to consider what Mackey and the Strike Team would make of that juicy piece of gossip, let alone the rest of the guys, God, his life wouldn't be worth living. He'd thought about telling Claudette, asking her advice, but again embarrassment had prevented him. He didn't doubt that she'd be sympathetic, and he knew she'd never liked Nick, obviously being a better judge of character than he was, Dutch thought, but he valued her good opinion of him above anyone else's and didn't want to appear weak to her.

Maybe, Dutch thought unhappily, a confrontation with Nick was inevitable. Surely if he told the other man directly, and succinctly, that he wasn't interested, and never would be, he'd get the message and back off. All he needed was an opportunity to talk to him alone for a few minutes. He didn't relish having that conversation in The Barn, but neither did he want to go back to Nick's apartment by himself, and if he asked the other man to a bar or something to talk it might be misconstrued as a come on.

The whole thing was a mess, one that Dutch was finding confusing and overwhelming in equal measure. He shivered, and snapped back to himself, when he suddenly realised just how cold the water he was sitting in had grown. He wondered how long he'd been sat there, staring into space, feeling sorry for himself. One thing was for certain, he was glad to get out of the bath and rub some heat back into his chilled flesh with a towel.

After pulling on a pair of boxer shorts Dutch yawned as he quickly climbed into bed, and pulled the comforter up to his ears, snuggling his head down into the pillow. He pushed all thoughts of Nick Johannson from his mind, and slipped off into a deep sleep after promising himself that he'd talk to Nick, and straighten things out at the first opportunity to do so alone, and on neutral territory.

****

Nick

The hot water pounded into the back of Nick's neck, sliding down over his shoulders in near scalding rivulets, before running down his back, buttocks, thighs, calves and away down the drain. He hung his head forward, his chin nearly touching his chest, eyes closed, enjoying the sensation. The heat loosened tired, aching muscles. The force of the water, as high as it would go, like a multitude of massaging fingers reddening his skin, making him tingle. He moved forward slightly, rolling first one shoulder, and then the other, under the pounding torrent.

Finally, reaching for the shower gel Nick began to wash away the frustrations of another day. He kept his eyes closed as his hands spread citrus scented foam over his body, and considered his next move. What he'd hoped would be a seduction, helped along by several generous measures of Whiskey, had completely failed. All that had achieved was to scare Dutch away, and put him on his guard. At the time he'd still hoped that the situation would be salvageable, but that hadn't proven to be the case. Now Dutch wouldn't speak to him, shrugging off his touch, and was cold towards him. Nick felt the annoyance, that Dutch's treatment of him elicited within him begin to build, and had to concentrate really hard to suppress it. Christ, he should be grateful that Nick found him attractive, that he was being patient with him, but instead Dutch was giving him the cold shoulder, he hadn't even thanked Nick for his gifts.

Of course Dutch's cavalier attitude towards the presents Nick had bought for him was another source of annoyance for Nick. He'd wanted to march into the squad room and drag Dutch up out of his chair and just hurt him when he'd overheard Lemansky bragging about the great tickets Dutch had given to him. He'd bought those tickets, which had cost him a month's wages, for them. He'd thought that Dutch might soften his attitude, stop playing hard to get, and they could have a great evening together at the game before going back to Nick's place, and Dutch finally giving in to what Nick knew he really wanted. Instead Dutch had just given the tickets away as if they'd meant nothing to him.

It wasn't that Nick couldn't appreciate the chase. If something was worth having it was worth having to work for, and Nick was sure that once he got him into his bed that Dutch would make all the effort he'd had to go to worthwhile, but it was still frustrating.

Then, of course, there was the added complication of Wyms and Mackey. Admittedly Mackey had backed off a bit since things between himself and Dutch had become strained, but still the guy's self-satisfied smirk made Nick's blood boil. Shit, what Nick wouldn't give for five minutes in a dark alley with the cocky little prick to teach him that nobody fucks with an ex-marine, not unless you want to get the shit kicked out of you that is. Nick filed that thought away into the back of his mind sure the time would come one day when he'd have the opportunity to take Mackey down a peg or two, show him he wasn't the alpha wolf of The Barn anymore.

The problem of Wyms though wasn't so easily solved with his fists. The bitch had always hated him, and Nick scowled at the thought of the time he'd wasted trying to get on her good side only to have all his overtures of friendship chucked back into his face. She'd seen his attraction for Dutch and had done everything she could to come between them. There'd even been a couple of times when he'd thought she was going to confront him over it, but instead she'd contented herself with cold looks and interference. Nick wasn't sure what her motives were for trying to come between him and Dutch, but suspected jealousy. She didn't have anyone and wanted her partner to be on his own as well. Of course she'd have to go. Once Dutch was his Nick knew it wouldn't take much to talk him around into asking Aceveda for a new partner, and, Nick thought with a grin, he had just the perfect candidate in mind as her replacement.

As he let the hot water rinse the soap from his skin Nick pondered what his next move should be. He had enjoyed the chase, but now he was beginning to get bored with it. Christ, he was only flesh and blood and he needed a good fuck, and he needed one soon. He'd tried subtle with no success maybe it was time for a more straightforward approach.

As he stepped out from the shower and dried himself Nick smiled at the thought that maybe Dutch was playing games with him after all. Perhaps the younger man was purposefully trying to push Nick into being more aggressive in his approach. Perhaps he wanted Nick to take charge, dominate him, make him submit. Nick found his cock beginning to harden at the rush of images that thought brought to his mind. Taking the damp towel into the bedroom with him to clean up the mess, Nick let his mind explore the possibilities as he stroked himself to completion under his blankets.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: - I don't own any of the characters of The Shield, they all belong to Shawn Ryan and FX.

Predator Chapter 8

"Dutch, you and Nick go and give the upper levels one last look over, make sure we didn't miss anything."

Both men nodded at Captain Aceveda before making their way towards the stairs to the upper level of the abandoned warehouse.

At last, Dutch thought, this was the perfect moment, just the opportunity that he'd been looking for. A chance to speak to Nick on his own in a neutral environment.

The bustle of activity and voices of police officers, and criminals, were left behind as Dutch and Johannson moved through the deserted upper levels of the warehouse. Moving through the corridors, checking inside every empty room neither man spoke. Dutch chided himself, he'd wanted to speak to Nick but now he had the opportunity he didn't have a clue what to say. The only sounds were their footsteps on the wooden floor that echoed dully throughout the empty space.

Dutch took the lead and found himself increasingly aware of Johannson's presence hovering behind him. Dutch could hear his breathing, feel Johannson's eyes on him always following his movements. The longer they were together the more uncomfortable Dutch could feel himself becoming. One part of him felt foolish for letting his nerves get the better of him, he'd wanted time alone to talk with Nick after all. However, a part of Dutch that had been honed through bitter experience was setting off internal alarm bells which were telling him that something was _off, _something wasn't right.

Having reached the far end of the upper story of the warehouse Dutch was relieved to think that now he could hurry back to the others. What had seemed like such a good idea earlier no longer held any appeal. Screw talking with the guy, Dutch had come to the conclusion that he didn't want to be anywhere near Johannson. He'd feel much more relaxed when they were back downstairs amongst everyone else.

Turning around Dutch was quickly brought up short by Johannson's presence. He was standing so close to Dutch that Dutch had to take a quick couple of steps backwards, almost falling over his own feet in his hurry, to stop himself from walking straight into him. Dutch found himself stepping back into one of the empty rooms they'd already checked. His heart was hammering in his chest, and he became annoyed with himself for showing his nervousness. His annoyance rapidly became directed at Johannson and as he tried to regain his composure he snapped at the other man,

"Christ, have you never heard of personal space!"

Johannson smiled back at him from the doorway and took several steps into the room.

Dutch was still mad at the other man but there was something cold and calculating in that smile that made him become concerned again and he involuntarily backed away from him. Dutch realised too late that all he was doing was backing himself into a corner with Johannson standing between him and the relative freedom of the open doorway.

Dutch forced himself to stand still and pleased that he managed to keep his nervousness from his voice he said,

"Look I don't know what twisted little game you think you're playing here, but I'm fed up with it. If this doesn't stop I'm gonna go to the Captain and file a complaint. I've had enough."

Dutch held his ground despite the fact that Johannson hadn't stopped advancing on him until he stood uncomfortably close again. The smile back on his face Johannson replied,

"You're not the only one who's tired of playing games Dutch. The whole 'hard to get' thing is beginning to get a little boring. So why don't you stop pretending that you don't want me as much as I want you and we can start having some fun."

Dutch frowned and began to wonder if the other man was just supremely arrogant or if he had only the barest of grasps on reality. Shaking his head he asked,

"What's wrong with you? Can't you take 'no' for an answer?" Then speaking slightly louder and with exaggerated enunciation of his words Dutch continued, "I'm not interested in you. I'm not gay. I want you to leave me alone." Pausing for a few seconds to let that sink in he added, "There I only used little words without many syllables surely even you can understand now, or do I have to be really blunt? Fuck off!"

Dutch felt rather pleased with himself when he saw the smile fading from Johannson's face, but he quickly became uneasy at the angry expression that replaced it and he began to wonder if maybe sarcasm hadn't been the best way to try and communicate his feelings. Looking at the other man he couldn't help but feel a little intimidated by Johannson's physical presence. It wasn't often that Dutch found himself having to look up at anybody, but Johannson had a few inches height advantage over him that made it necessary for Dutch to tilt his head up just a little when they were in close proximity with each other, such as he found himself in now. Dutch was also acutely aware that Johannson also had the advantage over him in body mass. While Dutch was tall he was also lean, but Johannson was wide and solid. Dutch had heard stories from the other guys in the breakroom about how well Johannson could handle himself, and remembered that he was also an ex-marine. Realising that things could be heading out of control Dutch decided that discretion really was the better part of valour and it would be best if he put some distance between himself and the other man. Turning away from Johannson, Dutch sidestepped him with the intention of getting past him and out of the room and back downstairs with everyone else. However, it seemed that Johannson had other ideas.

As Dutch went to walk past him Johannson reached out and grabbed his wrist. A quick twist and Dutch felt as if his wrist was on the verge of breaking as the other man pulled it back. Johannson pulled Dutch around and hitting him firmly between the shoulder blades Dutch found himself swiftly maneuvered across the room, his face shoved into the wall and his arm so far up his back he began to worry more about a dislocated shoulder than a broken wrist. Confused and scarred Dutch tried to stop himself from freaking out. If he was going to get out of this situation he'd need to talk his way out, and he wasn't going to be able to do that if his higher brain functions were closed down in panic.

However, his panic only escalated when he felt Johannson press himself up against him hissing in his ear,

"Enough! Don't you speak to me like that, I could snap your arm like a fucking twig."

Just to emphasize his point Johannson twisted Dutch's arm even higher making him gasp and squeeze his eyes shut against the burn of tears that the white hot pain elicited from him.

Gritting his teeth Dutch stammered,

"I'm s…sorry alright. Just…shit…just let me go."

"Oh, I don't know," Johannson replied sounding amused. "I kinda like you like this."

Dutch jumped when he felt Johannson's left hand slide down from his left shoulder and ghost down over his stomach to clutch his hip. He actually thought he was going to puke when Johannson followed that up by leaning in closer and flicking his tongue out over his ear. Dutch knew this was going to escalate if he didn't do something fast. Johannson didn't seem to care that the rooms below them were full of cops and that someone could walk in on them any moment, and while rescue seemed pretty good at the moment Dutch really didn't want anyone else to see him like this. So thinking fast he took a shaky breath and relaxed. Trying his best to sound sultry, and feeling like a bit of a jackass for it, Dutch said,

"You're right Nick it's time I stopped playing. It was just fun having you chase me, but now you've caught me so…"

Dutch held his breath waiting to see how Johannson would react. He had to suppress a self-satisfied grin when he felt Johannson release his arm and step back saying,

"That's more like it."

Dutch paused for a second before turning around. He quickly glanced past Johannson towards the open doorway and freedom, but first he had to get past the other man. Johannson himself solved that problem for Dutch by stepping forward and resting his hands on Dutch's shoulders he leant forward his face moving towards Dutch, mouth opening for a kiss. Dutch steeled himself and moved forward slightly as if to meet Johannson halfway, and then brought his knee up as hard as he could. He even winced in unspoken male sympathy as he felt his knee connecting with Johannson's crotch.

Johannson immediately released his shoulders as he let out a grunt of pain that seemed to originate deep down in his guts. He doubled over, eyes watering, but managed to turn his head and look up at Dutch who took an involuntary step back at the anger that vied with the pain in Johannson's eyes. Quickly gathering himself Dutch said,

" No means no alright asshole."

Without looking back Dutch walked calmly out of the room, and if he quickened his pace and took the stairs two at a time feeling relief when he heard the voices of his colleagues he was very careful not to acknowledge it to himself.


End file.
